


To Stand Against

by moomkin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Interrogation, Pain, Torture, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moomkin/pseuds/moomkin
Summary: What if the Emperor had read into Thrawn's thoughts when he confronted him about the Death Star? Thrawn learns the price of defending the Empire against a madman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *the first chapter's dialogue is mostly copied directly from the source material. This is by design as I'm exploring Thrawn's thoughts during his talk with the Emperor.

The throne room was as Thrawn remembered it, but time had changed his perspective. When he had first arrived, Thrawn was certain of his purpose. Infiltrate, build the Empire up, or help it destroy itself – whatever it would take to ensure the Chiss would survive. 

Now, Thrawn was here with a different purpose in his mind. It wasn’t simply to retrieve the rank plaque the Emperor offered him. And, strangely enough to him, not merely to protect his people. 

“Congratulations, Grand Admiral,” the Emperor said. “An excellent day for you. An excellent day for my Empire. Though I fear many will not see it that way.” 

Ah, yes. The news of what happened at Batonn had spread throughout the galaxy as quickly as though through hyperspace. Many systems were voicing anger and concern at the carnage. Much of the blame for that had, naturally, fallen on Thrawn’s shoulders. Without actual proof of Pryce’s hand in the attack, Thrawn was forced to accept it as his own. 

“I will endeavor to set their hearts and minds at ease,” Thrawn said, his mind drifting from the battle at Batonn. “But first I must calm my own heart and mind.” 

The look on the Emperor’s face was clear – he wasn’t expecting to hear about any doubts from his naval officers. Perhaps the Emperor thought Thrawn wished to speak about Batonn. He was most likely glad that it had been the _alien officer_ who had been blamed for Batonn… an officer who was still enough of an outsider that any criticism falling on him wouldn’t hurt the rest of the Imperial Navy… an officer’s undoing which could be manipulated to fed the narrative of xenophobia rampant in politics. 

“Must you, now?” the Emperor asked, a mocking note on his voice. “Very well. Speak your mind, Grand Admiral.” 

“Tell me about the Death Star.” 

And suddenly, startlingly – Thrawn could see memories flashing across his mind. It was just a blur, but something he had no control over. He certainly had never started reminiscing on a caliber like this before. And the thoughts were random. Just mental images of flying through space… nothing more, though the idea of _Death Star_ pressed upon his thoughts. 

But Thrawn had never seen it, never actually flew to the construction site. Even if it made no sense, it was as if his brain had suddenly _wanted_ to see it. His mind _needed_ to know that he’d seen it – as though his impeccable memory had simply forgotten that Thrawn had never seen it, and was going through him memories to double check. 

Most odd. 

“When and how did you hear of that project?” 

“I learned the name from unguarded dispatches,” Thrawn said, wincing slightly as he vividly recalled the exact moment, clear as though he was currently sitting there, reading the name on his datapad. 

“I deduced the size and power from resource allocations,” Thrawn continued, struggling to hide the growing discomfort. And again, without warning - and he almost wanted to say without his wanting to - Thrawn could see himself, hear himself, talking to Eli. Asking him to go over the files on doonium, asking him what it would mean. He could see Eli looking back up at him, offering his conclusions. His questioning on why any single project would require so much building materials, what the purpose of something so large could be. 

Thrawn shook his head slightly, trying to fight against the memories, but a growing headache was pounding back against his resolve. It would be easier – less painful – to give in. 

“I now wish to learn from you its purpose,” Thrawn finally finished, and again, stronger this time, his mind played out the most vivid images in his head. 

He could see his own fears, playing out before him. The Death Star – he’d never even imagined it before – but he knew that’s what it was as he saw it in his mind’s eye. A giant black moon, a great evil circle off set on the upper half… Thrawn could see Csilla, the small flecks of light which were the Chiss starfighters darting around the monstrous satellite, fighting in vain to stop it. 

And flashes of green, a laser shooting towards his home world. It took all of Thrawn’s will power to contain a gasp of terror at the realness of his own imagination, to not give in to the pain of seeing his world destroyed. 

Once again, the grip vanished in an instant, and Thrawn was no longer helpless against his mind. 

“Ah,” the Emperor said knowingly. “Your throughts are laid bare, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. You fear that, once I have dealt with the rebels within my borders, I will turn my unstoppable weapon against your Chiss. Is that your concern?” 

Thrawn felt his heart stop cold. 

_It couldn’t be._

But perhaps it was. The Emperor had just summed up what Thrawn had imagined, a little too accurately for it to be mere coincidence. But if he had-

Another push in his mind. _Answer._

“That is part of it,” Thrawn said, burying his worry and speaking as normally as he could. “I would certainly not wish to see my aid to you and your Empire subverted into conquest or destruction. But I would also warn against diverting too many of the Empire’s resources from a flexible navy of capital ships and starfighters to massive projects that can bring the Imperial presence to only one system at a time.” 

A push from somewhere beyond himself to imagine - _why?_

It was simple, really. Thrawn didn’t even bother much to imagine it. He could clearly see the problem – smugglers and pirates and slavers running wild across the galaxy, as Star Destroyers became extinct and one giant space station was helplessly zooming around systems trying to herd them. 

It simply would not work. Not to keep the Empire secure. 

“Allow me to allay your fears,” the Emperor said. 

“I have no designs against your people. Indeed, I have noted that despite your assistance in mapping the Unknown Region hyperspace routes, you have kept the location of Chiss worlds and bases secret. That is acceptable. I don’t begrudge you the defense of your people.” 

Thrawn felt the tightness in his shoulders slacken a bit. For a terrifying moment, Thrawn feared he had done something wrong – to hide his worlds. It would have come off as distrustful… but still. The Emperor’s voice still held malice. Still held a tone like someone slowly allowing a trap to unfold. 

“As to Imperial resources,” the Emperor smiled. “There will soon be no need to spread the Imperial presence across the galaxy. Once the Death Star is fully operational, its very existence will suppress all opposition.” 

Thrawn furrowed his brow, trying to read the man before him. There was a strange, evil glint of delight in his eye as he stared back at Thrawn. 

It was as though cloaked figure before him wanted him to figure out why. Why one single space station would be enough to immediately guarantee the obedience of the galaxy. 

_Why?_ The idea pressed harder. 

It was almost too delicious an idea to not imagine – and Thrawn’s mind, which enjoyed exploring possibilities anyways, offered no resistance. 

Thrawn was thinking of it before he realized it. He had already deduced its destructive capacities, had already determined the Emperor was cruel and vindictive and unfit to rule. And at his imaginings of the Death Star’s destruction of Csilla…

He felt his stomach drop out as the realization hit him. The Emperor… the very man standing right before him was planning to use the destructive capabilities of this weapon – not against the Rebellion, not against enemy vessels – but upon _worlds._

There was no other explanation for the enormity of its firepower potential. It wasn't merely overkill. Over exuberance. It was intentional. The ability to destroy a planet… and the Emperor would use it… use it to terrify the galaxy in obeying the whims of a madman. 

_He must be stopped._

Thrawn was convinced. Without a doubt. The Death Star would be used against civilians. Against noncombatants. Entire worlds wiped from existence - _billions_ of innocent lives lost. And the moment it was used, the Rebellion would win. The firepower would mean nothing, because every system would pour its resources into helping the rebels destroy such a machine. 

And if the Rebels won… the galaxy was lost. It would be the chaos of the Republic all over again. The Clone Wars… and Csilla… and the threat beyond. 

The Emperor could not succeed in using this machine. 

_What would you do to see such ends?_

Whatever it took, Thrawn realized. If it meant subverting its construction so it would never succeed. If it meant finding the blueprints of the Death Star and pouring over them to find weaknesses… even if it meant destroying it. Even if it meant giving such information to the Rebels. Even if it meant assassinating the Emperor. And taking his place- 

“You would turn traitor?” the Emperor asked. 

Thrawn blinked his eyes, forcing himself back to the present, and quickly trying to recall the last thing he had said. 

But he hadn’t said anything, and he was fairly sure his face had remained as impassive as ever – also giving nothing away. 

_Could he see my thoughts?_ Thrawn asked himself. It was a ridiculous idea, but the anger pouring out of the man before him left almost nothing to doubt. 

_Your thoughts are laid bare._

There was only one type of being Thrawn was aware of who might possess such a power. _The Jedi._

He'd seen Jedi do incredible things. Unnatural things. But there were all dead, weren't they? That's what Eli had told him - that the Jedi had attempted to dominate the entire galaxy and were slaughtered for their treachery. Thrawn felt a tightness in his throat as he recalled that one had nearly killed him despite being separated by the vastness of space. 

Thrawn gagged. 

His heart rate skyrocketed as a hand flew to his throat. He had suddenly stopped breathing. Just like before… 

Thrawn tossed his head to the side, doubling over, as though trying to shake off an invisible rope. He tugged at his collar, despite knowing it wasn’t what was cutting off air. Despite his pride, despite his poise, Thrawn collapsed down to all fours, fingers digging uselessly into the ground. He gagged again –unable to cough without air getting to his lungs. And each second dragged painfully on, as if time itself slowed down. 

“This is my reward for allowing an alien into my Navy?” the Emperor said, the anger biting on his words. “You once promised me your allegiance, but your thoughts betray you. Your goals were never for my Empire.” 

The invisible grip released him, and Thrawn fell forward, completely sprawled on the ground, coughing in great heaving gasps for air. Trying desperately to control his racing heart, but the helplessness, the mere _idea_ of helplessness, was causing his heartrate to spiral out of control.

“I was too quick to speak before,” the Emperor continued. Thrawn sensed the approach of the red-robed Royal Guards, the electric hum from their vibro-edged Force pikes droning dangerously close. “For now I do have designs against your people. A fitting punishment for your treachery – once the Death Star is complete, I will test it against your home world.” 

Thrawn growled, pushing himself up, but before he could spring up to his feet, one of the Red Guards lunged forward. 

Thrawn had learned about the weapons they carried. The Force Pike. Nothing he’d read had prepared him for the pain. 

The entire world around Thrawn collapsed. Vanished completely. All that existed was contained within his body. The pain was lightning – it was the only way to describe it – like vibrating, splintering shards of electricity, crackling across his muscles, igniting every nerve, awakening each cell with a pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t scream. His entire body was seized up, constricted into a ball, as all his muscles constricted against his will. Cramping as they were forced to bend to the will of the pike…

And then, it was over. 

Thrawn panted, wincing again as his muscles began to tremble, shaking uncontrollably in the aftershocks of the attack. 

But it was over…

A cold, shuddering weakness fell like a blanket over him. 

And then a thought. 

_Run away. Return to Csilla._

_no_

Despite the pain, despite the fear at the magnitude of the mistake he’d made, Thrawn recognized what that voice was now. And no amount of pain would force him to reveal the location of his home. 

_Csilla._

Thrawn winced, and focused his thoughts on the first thing that sprang to mind. A cup… a cup and pouring into it from a never ending container, blue milk. 

He focused on the idea. Hyperfixated on it. Why he was thinking about it, he couldn’t let himself wonder. It was a cup. A white cup. A cup with blue milk… he imagined the sound of the milk, the texture of the cup. Zeroed in on it. There was nothing else. White background. White cup. Blue milk. Pouring. Endlessly pouring. 

And on the edges of his vision, a corrupting **black** presence, burning its way through the picture. But he couldn’t imagine why. He had to keep focusing on the milk. The blue milk. Pouring. Endlessly pouridhg dinto the cuup. 

**black ness** onverouwlmnig. Consu;mngin. .Thrhrawn could notnn think absuyg why it as. there. 

Not. 

yyeet

it burned. **blackness** likefire burbghing. **swallhwoing all**. 

“He has a powerful mind.” 

And like that, the pressure vanished. And once again, Thrawn found himself panting. His head pounding, like waves slamming against a breakwater. But… he’d kept Csilla safe. 

“I do not wish to destroy this mind,” Thrawn could hear the Emperor saying from somewhere above him. He had only just realized there were droplets of blood on the ground, and he raised a shaky hand to his face, feeling the warm of blood dripping from his nose. “But there are other ways to retrieve the information I need.” 

“Take him away,” the Emperor said. “And inform the ISB we will need their best interrogator. One who can make this traitor willingly give up the location of his home world.” 

Thrawn felt hands grabbing him, but he was by far too weak to resist. 

_SWR_ 

Eli Vanto was pacing. 

He’d expected Thrawn back by now. The Emperor didn’t come across as someone who would chitchat and small talk for hours, but hours were exactly how much time had passed, and Thrawn had yet to return to their hotel. 

Eli knew what his orders had been, yet he was hesitant to fulfill them. 

_If I don’t return by sundown, you must assume the worse has happened, and flee._

Of course Thrawn could have simply been a little overdramatic. 

Then again, only Thrawn would stride confidently off into the unknown to confront the Emperor about a project he didn’t fully understand. Yet that’s what he’d done. And the more time that passed, the less likely it was that he would return. 

So Thrawn’s fear that he might face consequences for voicing his disapproval of the project came true? 

Eli winced. 

He was no good at this. What was he supposed to do now? Thrawn had handed him a datapad, filled with hyperspace routes which could take him to Csilla. He’d said it would be the only place where he’d be safe if things with the Emperor took a turn for the worse. 

It was crazy. 

Thrawn was just being over dramatic. They probably had some stupid party for his promotion to Grand Admiral – Eli checked his comm again to see if he’d been invited. Just like the last twelve times he’d checked it, there was nothing. 

There was a logical reason to why Thrawn was late. 

And he wasn’t about the desert the Navy, flying off into the Unknown Regions, abandoning everything he’d ever known – simply because he was getting jittery. 

Eli perked up. There was the sound of footsteps approaching their hotel door. Not just one. Not Thrawn. But a pair. 

The buzzer sounded, the filtered voice of a stormtrooper calling out, 

“Commander Vanto, open this door. We need to speak to you about Admiral Thrawn.” 


	2. chapter 2

_Admiral Thrawn._ Not Grand Admiral Thrawn. Not the rank Thrawn was on Coruscant to be promoted to. 

It could mean nothing. A simple mistake. Perhaps Thrawn’s promotion wasn’t common knowledge yet. Stormtroopers didn’t know everything. 

But it could mean Thrawn was never promoted. And something worse had happened. 

Eli cleared his throat nervously. 

He had to stall. Give himself some time to think. No. There was no time. He had to act. He trusted Thrawn. And Thrawn had already told him what to do. 

_Go to Csilla._

But Eli couldn’t just leave Thrawn behind…

What if Thrawn was in trouble? Well, obviously he was in some kind of trouble, he wasn’t back yet. But Eli had no idea what had happened, and even less of an idea of where to find him. Obviously he wasn’t important enough to go marching up to the Imperial Palace and demand to talk with the Emperor. 

Eli winced again. _There are stormtroopers at the door! Do something!_

He glanced around, but he knew he was cornered. They were too many levels up for him to consider escaping out the window – not to mention that breaking the glass would be really obvious to anyone waiting for him down below. 

The only way out was to face the stormtroopers. Who would have blasters. 

The door to the hotel room opened. 

And Eli still didn’t have a clue what to do. 

_SWR_

Thrawn’s body was still trembling in the aftereffects of the pike attack, but he tried to use the time to his advantage. 

His consciousness was unreliable. One moment he’d been laying on the floor of the Throne Room, gingerly testing his face to see where he was bleeding from, the next, he was vertical again, being dragged down a dark hallway. 

“I’mmmm t-tryin to ssssave the… Em..pire,” Thrawn attempted to say. His voice was weak, his teeth chattering softly together. Even if the pain was still racking his body, he couldn’t give up his mission. Someone had to understand. Whoever was dragging him was the last hope he had. 

But they didn’t respond. 

Thrawn couldn’t lift his head to see who they were, but he could see red. Red like the guards. Who were blindly loyal to the Emperor. 

Not the Empire. But to the figure at the top. 

The same man who would rule by fear. 

…were they Jedi, too? Could they read his thoughts. 

“Nuuugh,” Thrawn murmured as he tried to focus. If they could read his thoughts, then surely he could think through why the Death Star was a bad idea better than he could speak it. But even organizing his thoughts were difficult. 

“He c-c-can’t…..” Thrawn started, pausing to regain his breath. “Use. The Death Star. The Empire-”

This time Thrawn felt the jab in his abdomen. The electricity coursed through his body, again igniting every nerve and forcing every muscle to contract. But the hold this time was short, blessedly short. Perhaps his captors couldn’t manage to hold onto him and shock him at the same time. 

Thrawn was on the ground once more, his muscles spasming beyond his control, and he curled up in a ball. An involuntary moan drained from his mouth, as a penetrating coldness consumed him. 

Once again, rough hands grabbed him, hauled him to his feet. 

But Thrawn would stay quiet this time. 

_SWR_

“Commander Vanto?” 

Eli turned back to the door. The stormtroopers had overridden the lock and were standing in the doorway. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” Eli said. He figured throwing a line of krayt spit at them wasn’t going to get him anywhere. 

The stormtrooper on the left looked a little puzzled. “Why didn’t you answer the door?” 

“You were at the door?” Eli asked, immediately going back on his no-krayt-spit idea. “I didn’t hear you, I was in the refresher.” 

Which really wasn’t a bad line. 

“We’re sorry for the intrusion,” the other stormtrooper said. They were being professional. And Eli got the feeling that they were sincere. Whatever was going on, these two were mere pawns, not actual players. “You’ve been requested to go to ISB headquarters immediately to answer some questions about Admiral Thrawn.” 

“Has something happened?” Eli asked. 

“You need to come with us.” A blatant avoidance of the question. Eli felt a shiver race up his back. 

“But… I mean… ISB? This late?” Eli asked. 

“Come again,” the other stormtrooper said, leaning forward slightly. Eli picked up on it – the soldier was detecting the slightest bit of resistance and responding to it already. 

“Should I change?” Eli asked. “Not sure if they want me in uniform or not.” 

“What’s important is getting to ISB,” the stormtrooper on the left said, more sternly than the one on the right. 

“Alright, alright. Sorry to hold you up. Had no idea they had stormtroopers making house calls,” Eli said, approaching the stormtroopers and trying not to focus on their blasters. 

“You weren’t answering your comm,” the one on the right said. 

That Eli _knew_ was a blatant lie. 

“This thing has been acting up all night,” Eli said in a false huff. “Do either of you know anything about commlinks? See, there’s this little orange light that blinks every time-”

He offered the commlink to the closer of the two stormtroopers who – either due to inexperience or politeness – leaned forward to look. And without even considering the possibilities of what he was about to do, stepped forward, grabbed the stormtroopers blastered, forced his finger into the trigger well and pulled. 

The idiots were always holding their weapons at waist height, and standing side-by-side, the one stormtrooper’s blaster was pointing directly into the chest of the other. 

The blasters hadn’t been set to stun. But to kill. 

“Why you-” 

It turned into a quick struggle as Eli fought to retain control of the weapon. An armored elbow found its way into the side of Eli’s head, but it was the wrong move. The stormtrooper had thrown too much into the strike, and Eli was able to wrest the weapon away from its owner. 

At least he took the extra second needed to flip the weapon to stun before shooting him. 

And then…. Eli stumbled backwards, gasping. 

_Oh, kriff, they sent stormtroopers to get me. Their weapons were on fire… they would have killed me if I had resisted._

And then the logical next thought-

_What in all the galaxy had Thrawn done!?_

There would be reinforcements coming. Eli stepped over the two crumpled figures, heading towards the door. What if there were more waiting outside? Was he really prepared for a shootout? 

At least he’d had sense enough to change into civilian clothes. If he could manage to get to ground level, he would melt into the crowd and vanish. 

But vanish _where?_

Eli winced, told himself he’d figure it out on the way, and hit the release for the door. 

_SWR_

A sharp pain woke Thrawn. 

He could barely lift his head. It felt heavy – unbearably heavy. His eyes slowly blinked open, and he tried to analyze his surroundings. 

The floor in front of him were permacrete. Gray. Cold. Wet. The room was dark, whether because the room itself lacked sufficient light or whether it was night, Thrawn couldn’t tell. What he could determine was that he wasn’t laying on the ground. He was being held vertically, his eye level a meter or so off the ground. But stretching out with his senses, Thrawn got the feeling that he was alone. 

He jumped involuntarily as a jolt of pain shot through his shoulders. But not from an attack – no strike had fallen on him. It was his muscles, screaming in agony. It was the same pain which had awoken him from his unconsciousness. 

Thrawn closed his eyes, focusing on his body. He had to figure out what was wrong. His shoulders…. There. 

His arms were bound behind his back, a binder pulling his upper arms tightly to his sides – the metal clasp tightly above his elbows. His hands were bound before him. 

He tested the strength of the handbinds and another bolt of pain shot through his shoulders. It was unberable enough that he cried out. 

Thrawn figured it out… why he was in such pain. There was a chain connecting the binder on his arms to a place on the wall, and its length was such that the only way to loosen the chain was to stand up. As it was, Thrawn was slumped forward, and the pain of having all the weight of his body pulling at his shoulders had become too much. 

The chain was too short to let him kneel, or sit, or lay down. 

Thrawn pushed against the ground, his feet weakly sliding on the ground, unable to withstand the full weight of his body. 

When his knees gave out, another jolt of pain tore through his shoulders, and Thrawn cried out in earnest that time. 

He only endeared another moment before his feet began wildly scrambling on the ground again, trying desperately to find leverage enough to support his body weight – to take the pressure off his arms. Because the more he woke, the more problems he realized he had. 

Leaning forward like he was was putting too much pressure on his chest, too, and he was struggling to breath. His wrists were tingling with pain, as the binds were digging into nerves. 

And that wasn’t even to mention the injuries he’d already been dealt with the Force pikes. The burns from their ignition points were throbbing angrily under his uniform…

His uniform. 

The sparkling white uniform of the rank he hadn’t quite accepted was gone. He was dressed in something new… an orange jumpsuit. It was unmistakable. The uniform of a prisoner. 

Thrawn growled softly. 

He'd put too much faith in the Emperor. Believed the man wanted what was best for the Empire – that they even shared a similar goal. But where Thrawn wanted to rule with justice, to inspire loyalty… the Emperor had determined that was too much work. He didn’t possess the personality for such a cult… and instead chose the easy path. 

The path that led to the Death Star. 

It couldn’t be too late to do something. 

Thrawn was once again struggling to keep his head up. The pain in his shoulders was slowly growing to be too much to bear. 

Could he die like this? 

No….

The Emperor had wanted the location of Csilla…. Thrawn was only meant to suffer now. He cringed as he realized this was merely to soften him up. 

The real torture hadn’t yet begun. 


	3. chapter 3

Eli had been in worse situations. At least he kept telling himself that. Then again, he’d never tried to escape from a hotel while hiding inside the hideously cramped internal storage container of a housekeeping droid while stormtroopers were looking for him. To arrest him. Or, more likely, to kill him. 

Maybe one day he’d manage to look back and laugh.

It _had_ been a spot-of-the-moment idea. Eli had stepped out of his hotel room, only to hear the iconic muffled voices of stormtroopers down the hall. Eli had run the other way. The other way had led to a dead end. Except for the housekeeper droid station. 

Eli must have looked ridiculous, desperately hitting the call button. At first, he’d thought he could get the droid going down the hall – did the rooms have censors that would automatically call a droid if the room was a mess? Would two bodies constitute a mess? – that a droid in the hallway would stall the stormtroopers, and the empty station would give him a place to hide. 

Except the station door closed before he could get into it, so Eli did the next best thing. He forced open the storage container that held all the extra towels and linens, shoved everything behind a decorative plant, and climbed inside. 

And the droid sat there in stunned, mute silence, wondering what had happened to it. 

Eli ground his teeth together as the droid finally started to roll forward. It was ponderously slow. And Eli swore at himself. _Stupid._ The droid wasn’t used to carrying the extra weight. Even if Eli _fit_ in the storage compartment, it didn’t mean the droid could carry him. And what if this droid had independent communication abilities and start complaining that people weren’t supposed to ride in it? Getting called out by a droid would be the most idiotic way to get caught by stormtroopers. 

Thankfully the first part of Eli’s plan worked. He could hear the stormtroopers coming down the hall. They all but ignored the droid – a human habit even Eli was guilty of – and its presence in the middle of the hallway slowed them down. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the pile of towels he’d left behind and put two and two together. 

The droid kept moving, agonizingly slow. Eli bit onto his fist to keep himself from making any noise. He tried to focus on the stormtroopers, who were mere inches from where he hid. The moments felt like they were drawing out for an eternity. 

“Check the lifts again,” a stormtrooper said. 

“And all the rooms on this level,” another added. “He can’t have gotten too far.” 

And just that easily, the droid steered itself onto a small maintenance lift. Eli Vanto had escaped. 

-SWR-

Thrawn didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t think of a way out of his current situation. 

The pain was all consuming - edging in on his ability to think clearly, demanding all attention. His body wouldn’t obey his commands. Even the simplest ones. The ones he needed it to. 

Like stand. 

No matter how hard he tried, Thrawn could not get his knees to bear his weight. He simply had no strength left. But each time his knees gave, the pain which was ripping through his shoulders returned with a vengeance, burning his body like a flame. The suffocating pressure on his chest cut off all hopes to breath. Even if he wanted to cry out in pain, all he could manage was a desperate gasp. 

And even Thrawn had to accept there was nothing he could do to get out of it. His hands were slowly going numb – a small relief from the splintering pain having the hand irons cutting into the nerves in his wrists. They were useless to him now. When Thrawn managed to look over his shoulder – to try and see how the chain binding him were attached to the wall – the most glaring obstacle was that the anchor point was too high. 

So his legs would slip out from underneath him again, Thrawn bore the worst of the pain for a few moments, before desperation forced him to attempt to find his footing again. 

The process repeated itself. Over and over and over again. Hours dragged by. And as more time dragged, the more likely it seemed as though the next time Thrawn lost consciousness could be his last. If Thrawn didn’t think of a solution soon, he knew he might very well die. 

So why was no one coming to interrogate him? 

Thrawn had lost track of time, but surely someone had to be observing him. They would come when he was at his most vulnerable. 

He was smarter than this. 

But he wasn’t. He couldn’t think of a way out of it. If he had been smarter, he wouldn’t have been captured at all…

But he had been. The Emperor had been able to read his thoughts, forced him to think through scenarios. His minded flitted quickly to Eli – Eli was loyal. Eli would follow his orders. Eli would get to Csilla. He would be safe. 

But then what? Would Eli be able to deduce what the Death Star was capable of? Would Eli be able to convince the Aristocra that immediate action needed to be taken? Or would Csilla be doomed? 

The hope that Eli could-

The door opened. 

-SWR-

Eli couldn’t believe his ridiculous plan had worked, but it had. 

He had slipped out of the hotel with only minor difficulties – the overseer droid in the maintenance room was extremely displeased by Eli’s breach of human behavior. And it only got angrier when Eli grabbed a white bed sheet and ran out of the building. 

He wrapped himself up in it as though he were some kind of monk, slipped out of the hotel, and disappeared into the street. 

Except there wasn’t a crowd to disappear into – the district was too work-focused to hold the attention of any party-goers at that late of an hour, so Eli kept to the allies and shadows, silently cursing himself again for grabbing a disguise that made hiding all that much more difficult. 

If the ISB was looking for him… if storm troopers were looking for him….

Eli ditched the “robe” the next time he was near a dumpster, pulled his collar up, tilted the brim of his hat down, and tried not to look too panicky as he walked. 

The problem was, he had no idea what to do. 

He didn’t know who to turn to. He quickly abandoned the idea of finding a flight off Coruscant. By now, his name had to have been uploaded into every database on the planet. And even though Coruscant _had_ to have its share of smugglers, Eli had no idea how to find them. Or even where he’d ask them to take him. 

So he was trapped. 

But so was Thrawn. 

Eli winced. He couldn’t leave the planet. Not knowing that he’d be leaving Thrawn behind. And it didn’t take much intuition to figure out what must have happened to him. If Thrawn was alive, he had to have been taken to the ISB headquarters – it was the only logical place. It had the most secure detention cells, the most capable interrogators…

Eli winced again. 

He pushed away the thoughts of what might be happening to his friend. It wouldn’t help the situation. All he could do now was figure out what he was going to do. He had already come up with one clever plan that worked. He could make another one. 

Eli walked the entire night, too afraid to sleep, sneaking around buildings, heart constantly racing, afraid if he closed his eyes, he’d get cornered. So he kept walking, always on guard, trying desperately to formulate a plan. It wasn’t as easy as escaping the hotel – when he worked with what he had right in front of him. ISB headquarters had too many variables, too many things out of his control. 

So it was with a sense of foreboding that Eli welcome the sunrise. The gradual arrival of light left him a little dazed but oddly woken. But his limbs were trembling with fatigue, even if his mind was suddenly shaken into alertness. 

The morning brought with it the arrival of people – groggy souls making their ways to their jobs, steamy cups of caf in their hands. Eli nearly wanted to knock someone over and steal their caf, it smelled so inviting. But he lingered in the allies, still questioning whether or not to risk melting into the crowd. 

There were still stormtroopers on patrol. 

That was something – no matter what happened next, at least he’d managed to elude the storm troopers for an entire night. 

It was just his luck that as he mentally congratulated himself on that, he was suddenly slammed against the ground. 

”Don’t move, traitor,” a voice whispered in his ear. 

\- SWR – 

Thrawn had to bite his lip to stop himself from pleading with the man who stepped into his cell. By the smug smile on his face, the man didn’t need to hear words to know how desperate Thrawn really was. 

“Comfortable?” the man asked, then frowned at Thrawn’s lack of response. “Ah, so we aren’t speaking? I was told you were really quite polite for a traitorous alien. Perhaps being outed has a way of changing ones’ nature?” 

Thrawn moaned softly and closed his eyes. If there was anything he didn’t have time for, it was this. 

The man stepped closer, the grin returning, and he reached out to hold Thrawn’s chin. He didn’t have the strength to waste on pulling away. 

“I see,” the man said knowingly. “Noble resignation. You know you are defeated. Too proud to admit it? You won’t have much pride left when we’re through with you.” 

Thrawn moaned again, and closed his eyes, finding himself resting the weight of his head into the man’s hand. Thrawn jolted up when the man moved his hand away – for just the one second, Thrawn had used the support and actually started to fall asleep. 

“Oh, no, not yet,” the man said, walking around to Thrawn’s side, examining the binds. Thrawn closed his eyes again, knowing what to expect…

The man put his hand on the middle of Thrawn’s back, inbetween the shoulder blades. Thrawn hissed sharply in pain, which turned into a full yowl as the man slowly applied pressure. Again, his feet scrambled against the ground, but now with the hope of finding a way to get out from under the man’s hand. It was just the wild thrashing brought on by the intense hurt. 

“I could probably ask you to give up your world right now,” the man said, removing his hand. Thrawn panted slowly, his vision dancing with spots. If he was going to lose his consciousness, it would be now. 

“You need the relief,” the man whispered, getting dangerously close to Thrawn’s ear. “And I need the information you possess. I heard you like art, so I’ll tell you a little something about myself - I enjoy the art of torture. And you can be my masterpiece if you let me. They warned me you would be a difficult one to break… 

“So… I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m going to draw this out. For as long as your body keeps you alive, I’m going to have my fun. 

“But I can’t leave this room empty handed.” 

The man placed his hand on Thrawn’s back again, pushing down hard. Thrawn’s scream echoed pitifully off the walls of his cell. 

“Which direction would I leave Coruscant if I wanted to go to your world?” the man asked, applying more pressure. “All I need is the vector. I’ll get the information I want from you, piece by piece. Refuse to answer, and I’ll-”

Thrawn rattled off a set of numbers, his voice waivering pathetically with weakness. 

The man smiled, reached up and pulled on a small lever. The chain gave, and Thrawn fell forward, his knees cracking against the permacrete ground, then his chin as he slumped forward. 

The man huffed a laugh, but Thrawn didn’t notice. He was already unconscious. 

“Sleep well,” the man whispered. “Tomorrow the real torture begins.” 


	4. chapter 4

Thrawn’s eyes shot open, his breath catching in his throat as he was jolted to consciousness. For a blissful moment, there was nothing – no pain, no intruder forcing him awake. But then it came, the stab of agony that brought a growl ripping at his throat.

Thrawn pulled his head back, grimacing and forcing his arms at the binds still holding him.

His entire body was softly trembling from simple and utter weakness. He needed sleep. He needed sleep so desperately. The pain racking his shoulders refused it.

Thrawn pulled again at the binds.

Involuntarily, he kicked his leg, as though trying to drive himself away from the pain. It wouldn’t stop once it started. He leg kept kicking, somehow finding a life of its own. Somehow finding enthusiasm to move when the rest of Thrawn’s body had none. 

Thrawn didn’t want to focus on how badly his shoulders hurt, but it was impossible to ignore. It was as if the way he’d been held – for hours – had ripped apart his muscles fiber by fiber… It felt as though every rip had been filled with ice, and now his entire back was erupting in a sharp burn. 

He closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind. His breathing was getting rapid, random. And now that he’d regained consciousness, he couldn’t fall asleep.

The irony was nearly as painful as the actual agony his body had been put through. After all the struggling he’d been forced to endure to simply rest, the way he’d silently begged for the chance to rest… now his body was free and he couldn’t fall asleep.

His consciousness came and went fitfully, as crescendos of pain brought him out of his moments of clarity. Thrawn knew he had to find a way to escape… a way to gain an upper hand in his captivity. No matter how small, he had to have something in his control.

And once that idea took hold – the idea that he had to find something he had control over – the panic started to set in. Because if he was _this_ desperate to find something, it meant he had nothing.

 _This isn’t you,_ Thrawn tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one to give in to panic.

Then again, he’d never been in a situation like this.

He’d never been subjected to such torture before, and it was making his mind do terrible things. Things that were unlike him. Things like….

_No…_

He remembered what had given him this moment of peace, this respite from the torture. He’d given numbers… but no matter how hard he tried to remember, he had no recollection of which ones he gave. Did he give actual coordinates for Csilla? Or had he given something at random…

Thrawn closed his eyes, feeling a wave of shame settle over him, smothering like a blanket. 

All of his meticulous planning… all the years away from home… all the sacrifice… and it would end here… in a prison cell. 

He hadn’t been able to anticipate his enemies… it wasn’t his fault… It wasn’t.

His interrogator’s promise came into focus… the man promising to draw out the torture until his body simply gave up on living.

So there was no hope. No reason to fight to live….

Thrawn winced, bracing himself against the stab of pain jolting suddenly up his spine, returning with a vengeance upon his awareness. The best he could hope for now was that he might die before he might betray his world.

But even Thrawn knew he couldn’t count on that.

-SWR-

If Eli had been tired before, he was wide awake now.

The spike of adrenaline all but made up for the lack of sleep, and he struggled as much as he could. Thrashing was more like it. A valiant effort, but utterly pointless. The man who had drove him to the ground remained on top of him, pinning him with minimal effort. And he was much, _much_ larger than Eli.

Panting after a good minute of effort left Eli exhausted, the man finally said, “Are you finished?”

Eli scowled as he tried his best to drive an elbow into the man’s ribs. Without much room to maneuver in, though, his elbow just barely tapped the man’s side.

“Hardly,” Eli growled in response.

“If you give me a moment to explain - I’m trying to help.”

Eli’s body went slack as the scowl on his face deepened.

“So… you knock me to the ground, call me a traitor, holding me down like, and you expect me to believe you’re helping?”

“I’m not sure you would have let me talk if I’d tried anything else. I _am_ an ISB agent.”

If Eli hoped the sudden influx of panic would be the valiant savior to deliver him from the clutches of this foe… he was sorely mistaken.

“Would you stop that!? I. Said. I. Was. Helping.”

“Yeah, well, ISB agents aren’t high up on my ‘trust’ list at the moment.”

“If I wanted to arrest you, I would have simply arrested you.”

“WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?!” Eli growled in exasperation. “This is holding me against my will. It’s an apprehension. An arrest.”

“Fine.”

And Eli felt his body go slack again with pure disbelief as the man got off of him. He didn’t even scramble to his feet, but stood up slowly, his eyebrows glowering and his mouth in a thin line. The turn of events was testing his every last nerve. He was too tired to even be polite anymore.

Eli got his first good look at his assailant. Or friend.

The man was tall, nearly as tall as Thrawn, intimidating with his black ISB uniform and armor, with strawberry blonde hair and… barely in regulation mutton chops.

Eli wondered what might happen if he risked trying to run away, but the man didn’t make any other moves. And… he could have easily gotten Eli into a pair of hand irons…

“Alright, now what?”

“What do you mean?”

Eli’s shoulders slumped.

“I mean…” he lifted his hands as if trying to explain something, and dropped them to his sides again. “Look, _you_ approached me, you… you knocked me to the ground. What do you want?”

“I thought maybe you’d want some help.”

“Some help? Like… some… insider ISB help?”

Eli’s heart gave a feeble flop in his chest. Maybe it was possible then… somehow, this random stranger could be his ticket to bust Thrawn out of-

“What? No, I thought… you needed help finding… weren’t you defecting to the Rebellion?”

“The _what!?_ ” Eli raised a hand to his head. The leaps in this conversation was making him a little lightheaded. “Just wait…. _why_ would I join the Rebellion? My lo- my friend is …. I don’t even know what’s happened to him. I had stormtroopers at my hotel room. I _killed_ somebody. I don’t even know what any of it is even about. What part of any of that makes you think I want to be a Rebel?”

The man standing opposite him looked absolutely deflated by his outburst.

“Well… okay,” Eli said. “I could see how me killing a stormtrooper might make you think I wanted to be a Rebel. But… really all I want is to rescue Thrawn.”

The man gave a kind of noncommittal shrug of the shoulders.

“Look,” he said, as though coming to a conclusion. “It’s not that easy.”

“There you go,” Eli said, sarcastically encouraging the man. “I need help. I need _your_ help. If you’re really an ISB agent, then you have access to information I need. We need. We need to find out what they did with Thrawn.”

“I might not have access to that kind of information,” the man said. “And going into the system to retrieve will look suspicious.”

“Hey, but you’re a double agent, right?” Eli asked. “You’ve done this before… right?”

The man’s face hardened.

“Figures,” Eli muttered. It would be his luck that the random stranger offering to help him would turn out to be a first time double agent. Still, it was all he had.

“I’m guessing you already know my name,” Eli said.

“Kallus,” the man picked up on Eli’s prompt, offering him his hand to shake. “Come on. We’d better get you off the streets before you’re recognized. You can stay in my quarters while I see what I can dig up on your friend.”

-SWR-

Thrawn’s body jolted violently awake, a sputtering breath shaking his chest as he lifted his head.

This time, it wasn’t the pain which had woken him. It was his interrogator entering his cell.

“I gave you a chance to determine the nature of our relationship,” the man said, crouching next to Thrawn and smiling a disturbed smile. “Those coordinates you gave doesn’t start us off on the right foot. I’m ecstatic.”

The man grabbed a fistful of Thrawn’s hair, lifting the Chiss’s head off the ground.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t cooperate. You have no idea what it’s like being me… having to hold back. But the Emperor wants me to do my worse, and… I’m so glad you’re being uncooperative.”

The giddy tone underlying his words unnerved Thrawn more than anything. Even the relief that he hadn’t betrayed Csilla after all didn’t feel like a relief.

“I’ll need to get us on… equal footing again. You lying about that home planet of yours makes me think you have hope you might escape this.”

Thrawn knew it was coming but didn’t have time to brace for it. Before he could even wince, the interrogator had slammed his face back down into the permacrete.

“Attempting to assassinate the Emperor?” he whispered. “The news is already reaching across the galaxy. They say you murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent Imperial workers on Batonn… and the gracious Emperor tried to confront you about it… my dear. If I’m feeling compassionate later, I’ll let you know how the rest of the galaxy is reacting to the news. I imagine it might kick off a new wave of xenophobia.”

The man smiled. “Of course, your shipmates were devastated. Disgusted, rather. Absolutely repulsed to have any association with you.”

The man set a pile of clothes neatly next to Thrawn.

“They all hate you. All except one.”

Thrawn felt the horror like a cold vice clamping down on his heart. The uniform… he could tell immediately. The fabric, the very sight of it… perhaps the scent. There was no mistaking it. It was Eli’s uniform.

“He put up a terrific fight,” the man said. “But in the end…. There’s only so much anyone can do. Such a waste. Does he know how to withstand torture, like you-?”

But Thrawn’s muffled laughter cut off the man before he could finish his question.

Thrawn couldn’t help it. He smiled. He’d found it – the one thing he still had control over. 

“You don’t have him,” Thrawn whispered. “Commander Vanto was not wearing his uniform when I left him, meaning you had nothing when you went to our hotel room. Nothing to bring back to taunt me with except an empty uniform.”

The interrogator stared down at Thrawn, the lazy smile gone from his face.

“You’re right where I want you,” the man said after a long pause. “Someone who still has hope is that much more fun to break. Shall we begin then?”

Thrawn’s smile widened.

“You can try.”


	5. chapter 5

Eli Vanto barely noticed where his new-found ISB agent friend was leading him. The adrenaline dump was worse than the weariness. His mind kept drifting off. It was hard to settle his eyes on anything – he could feel his pupils bounce whenever he tried to focus on details. It’d never happened before, but then again, a lot had happened in the last twelve hours which had never happened before.

He’d been pursued by storm troopers.

He’d killed one of them.

Thrawn was in prison.

And somehow, he was going to come up with a plan to save him.

Eli found himself suddenly in places without remembering how he got there – walking past a tapcafe he’d visited when he was an academy student. The hallways of a grand underground station. The elevator going… somewhere.

Even trying to focus on the numerals of the floor they were heading to was impossible at this point. Eli kept his hands in his pockets, to hide the fact that the adrenaline dump was making them tremble uncontrollably. Hopefully he looked moody or rugged. And not like he was trembling from a night of running.

“Here we are,” Kallus said, and then reached out to grab Eli’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t until then that Eli realized he was standing in the hallway to what was obviously an apartment building, that Kallus had stopped in front of a door, and that Eli hadn’t.

“Sorry,” Eli mumbled.

Kallus opened the door, guiding Eli into the living quarters with a meaningful push.

“Sleep,” Kallus instructed, pointing down the hall. “There’s a bathroom on the left. Bedroom on your right.”

“This place is-“

“No small talk. Sleep,” Kallus said. “You can be rude this time. Socialize when I wake you up.”

Eli took a moment to process everything, nodded weakly and walked down the hallway.

The apartment was small. Even by Coruscant standards. It was minimally furnished and had absolutely nothing on the walls. It didn’t feel like a home. But there was something “lived in” about the place that settled Eli’s mind.

It wasn’t a trap.

This guy was just really a no frills kind of guy.

Eli took a quick shower – the warm water only working to make him more sleepy.

He didn’t even bother getting redressed. He merely wrapped a towel around himself, stumbled across the hall into the bedroom, threw back the sheets and curled up. He was asleep before he could even ask himself whether the bed was comfortable or not.

-SWR-

The interrogator stared down at Thrawn, his threat hanging heavily in the air.

_You can try._

The man looked down at him, and Thrawn, despite laying prone on the ground, despite having fresh blood oozing on his face, looked right back. The smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth.

This interrogator thought he could best him. And he thought wrong.

The man remained silent. Just as silently, he turned and left the room.

Thrawn’s smile spread over his face. Maybe it was petty. Winning at word games wasn’t exactly the same thing as winning a major military victory, but the feeling it gave him at the present at least felt the same.

He knew the man would be back. He’d have to prepare himself the best he could.

Thrawn’s arms were still bound behind his back, his hands still bound in front of him. They were of no use to him. But his legs were free. They were tired, of course, but they were unharmed. Thrawn focused, driving all of his intention to them. 

Even if it was pointless, he had to maintain control.

And right now, the way to maintain control was to keep power away from the interrogator.

Which meant when the man returned, Thrawn had to be in anything but a helpless position.

Which meant getting off the ground.

It was going to be much harder than merely thinking it. But with a clear objective in mind, Thrawn was seized by a relentless motivation.

He focused on his legs. He focused on his body. Which parts he would be able to rely on. And when he had a plan, he didn’t waste him.

Thrawn pressed his forehead into the permacrete, barely even registering the dull throb of a headache protesting. He leaned into it, tightening his abs and pulling his torso off the ground. He grunted as he drew his legs up, his knees bending wearily. It was more effort than he’d realized.

He had to walk his knees up slowly. One side. Then the other. Step. By step. By step.

Until his knees had been fully drawn up into his chest.

The first time he pulled his head back, the wash of lightheadedness threatened to make him pass out and Thrawn rested his head down. But only for a moment. He wasn’t giving up. Just a pause.

Then he tried again. The second attempt was successful.

He was sitting on the floor, on his legs more accurately. 

Thrawn glanced around the room. 

It was as he remembered it from the day before. From what he was able to take in while he had more pressing matters to deal with. Thrawn glanced behind him, where the chain attached to his binds still hung, slapping the wall occasionally as he moved.

His eyes glanced up the wall, finding the wenches that controlled it-

There was movement outside his cell.

Thrawn turned his head sharply to the door, gaining composure. He set his face. Clenched jaw. Eyes blazing once again with purpose. An indomitable spirit.

The interrogator returned. This time, accompanied by two stormtroopers.

Whatever the men had hoped to see upon their return, it was certainly not what Thrawn gave him.

But the interrogator hid his reaction well, just a small misstep. By the time the other foot hit the ground, he had gotten back into character. Thrawn traced his movements with his eyes, flickering momentarily to the two stormtroopers who were moving to flank him.

“Gag him,” the interrogator said. “Nothing you can say-“

Thrawn didn’t give him the chance to finish.

He sprung to his feet, thrusting the full weight of his body into the chest of the stormtrooper on his left. The storm trooper wasn’t prepared for it, and Thrawn only had to press the forward momentum to slam the man into the wall. 

The door remained open.

If only it wasn’t for the chain still binding him to his prison.

Thrawn turned back to the other two. The interrogator was only just getting over his shock, words only just coming to his lips. But while Thrawn lacked the means to get away, the chain had its own use.

Thrawn started for the other stormtrooper, kicking him square in the chest, somehow mustering the strength to knock the soldier off his feet.

Leaving him open to attack the interrogator. Thrawn straightened up, the smile of victory coming to easily to his lips. Even though escape wasn’t likely, he was in control. He was setting the mood. He would not be -

Thrawn had only just begun his deliberate march towards his captor when the first stormtrooper drove him to the ground. He growled wordlessly, struggling – against the white armored hands pinning him to the ground and against the urge to cry out in pain.

The interrogator left out a huff – a sure sign he’d been nervous – and knelt next to Thrawn.

“Gag him,” the man said, his voice distant. No longer fun and playful. Certainly not cold and calculating. He knew he’d misinterpreted his enemy and was now just pushing ahead as quickly as possible to regain the odds.

“Nothing you can say-“

“Was this a script?” Thrawn asked, noting that the man had said nearly the same exact thing before he attacked.

The interrogator stopped talking.

Whatever he had planned, the stormtroopers already knew. They didn’t need orders. Thrawn thrashed his head away, but a white armored hand gripped his jaw, holding his head in place. The gag was cloth, tied roughly behind his head.

And then they undid the binds.

All of them. The one around his wrists. The ones around his arms… 

After he’d nearly escaped, they were releasing him from the only thing still binding him to the cell.

It didn’t matter. The two storm troopers were holding him down. The old pain in his shoulders, the pain he’d all but forgotten as his inspiration had drowned it out, came back in a fury as one of the stormtroopers drove a knee in between his shoulder blades. Like a boiling point that filled his head with little else.

The knee could have been a pike. It could have been a blade of molten steel.

Thrawn’s jaw clenched down on the cloth in his mouth, screaming into it. There was little else to hide. 

“You will look,” the interrogator said, apparently regaining his confidence once he knew Thrawn wouldn’t be trying anything else. 

Thrawn opened his eyes, looking up at the man. 

“The only thing the Emperor told me to leave was your mind,” he said coldly. “You don’t have much need for anything else.”

The words clicked the same moment the searing pain raced up Thrawn’s arm. It was a thicker pain – not the sharp, needlely pricks the tearing at his shoulders had left. But this was much worse. Far worse. He could feel it, like a tangible presence that had taken up space in his arm. It was so strong, so _present_ Thrawn couldn’t even think beyond it to know what had happened to him. The pain just pulsed agony like hammer strikes…

“Nothing you can say will stop this,” the man was saying. “Scream the coordinates. I won’t understand them.”

The man picked up something from the ground, looking at it disinterestedly, as if he’d only just noticed some trash on the ground. And somehow… even if it didn’t make sense… Thrawn recognized the tiny, slim thing in the man’s hand.

It… it was his own finger. The pain in his arm… they’d cut it off.

“This is the price to pay for-“

The interrogator huffed as Thrawn lost consciousness.

“Well,” he said anticlimactically, his disappointment making his words soft. “Wait until he wakes up, then continue.”

“You’re not staying, sir?”

The man let out another sigh. But how could he sum up the way all the enjoyment had been sucked from his work?

“I’m going to arrange for a little something,” the man said, nodding, as if settling a decision he’d been struggling over. “Yes, I think this one deserves a little something extra. But if I don’t have five fingers and a hand on my desk in the next two hours, there is going to be hell to pay.”


	6. Chapter 6

Kallus leaned against the frame of the doorway and felt the weight falling harder on his shoulders.

His feet tread heavily on the floor as he approached his bed. Eli Vanto slept like the dead. The hiss of the door opening didn’t wake him. Kallus sat on the corner of the mattress, trying not to glance in the other man’s direction.

_He was really going to hate the plan._

Still, there wasn’t much time to waste.

“Wake up.”

Nothing.

Kallus sighed, grabbing the other man’s shoulder and giving it a hard shake. “WAKE UP.”

Eli’s eyelids opened slowly and drowsily. Kallus felt worse about his idea. He already looked too worn out to endure what he had in mind.

“I have an idea on how we can rescue Thrawn.”

Eli pushed himself up in an instant, apparently forgetting how he’d fallen asleep. Once _that_ dawned on him, he gathered up the blanket around himself, blushing furiously.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Kallus ignored it. “I did some research while you slept. Thrawn’s been captured, but I can’t find out where. Most likely one of the lower levels-”

“ _Lower_ levels?”

Kallus sighed. “Yes, ISB headquarters has special… _interrogation_ cells … hidden underground.”

“Off the records?” Eli assumed.

“You can imagine why.”

Eli nodded slowly, his face paling. Kallus studied his reactions. It was far more than just a working relationship, he gathered. Something far more serious. Deep. Sincere.

“He’s been accused of attempting to assassinate the Emperor,” Kallus continued. “Which warrants an immediate execution, but ISB is keeping him alive. I assume it is to gather information. Perhaps on… Rebel cells he may be sympathetic with?”

Kallus was fishing here, his voice rising with his eyebrows to prompt Eli to answer. Eli merely shook his head.

“No… he’s… not a Rebel,” Eli said. “And I don’t believe he was trying to … assassinate the Emperor. He went to go talk about a project the Empire is working on… And well… Thrawn… he’s not always tactful.”

“The Emperor isn’t known for being kind to outside opinions… _or_ aliens.”

Eli was far too distracted to comment.

Kallus pressed on, knowing this was not going to go over well. “Without knowing exactly where Thrawn is, trying to engineer an escape is… not going to be possible. All we know is that whenever Thrawn gives up this information, he _will_ be executed.”

It _was_ more than a working relationship.

“No,” Eli said immediately. With a touch too much emphasis. _Definitely more._ “You said you had a plan?”

At least Kallus felt better about his idea.

“There’s a way I could find out where Thrawn is. If I were to bring in another prisoner… one that might convince Thrawn… to be willing to give information in exchange for their safety….”

Eli connected the dots. 

“You’re going to turn me in,” Eli said. Immediately defensive. Not like Kallus could blame him.

“If you’re serious about finding Thrawn, it’s the only way,” Kallus said. “I arrest you, bring you to ISB headquarters, and while I’m ‘interrogating’ you, the ISB agent in charge of Thrawn’s interrogation will come find you. He’ll want to use you.

“Then, I can follow him to Thrawn’s cell. Once I know where it is, I can engineer an escape.”

“Or you walk away,” Eli said. “Bring me in easy instead of fighting me in the street.”

“It would look more convincing if you struggled when I take you in-”

“What’s in it for you?”

Kallus had no quick answer. Under Eli’s accusing gaze, it was even harder to find the words.

But Eli was quick on stopping the conversation from deviating. He was clever. He would know when someone was feeding him a line.

Kallus sighed. “I’m a double agent now. You could use that against me if I don’t come back.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Eli said. “Why risk any of this? Why not just tell me Thrawn’s done for and send me on my way?”

“He _could_ be persuaded to become a rebel?”

“So you’re doing this to bolster your ranks? Seems like an awful lot of risk.”

“For now, that’ll be enough.”

Eli narrowed his eyes.

“Look, you’re not going to rescue him without my help,” Kallus said. “We’re wasting time anyways. ISB has some fairly unpleasant ways to extract information.”

“Thrawn’s tougher than that.”

“No one is.”

Eli visibly shivered at that.

“Fine,” he said finally. 

“You’re really serious?” Kallus was surprised. “They’ll torture you. You’re prepared for that?”

Eli didn’t answer.

“Well… get ready. Meet me by the shipyards… pretend like you’re sneaking aboard a cargo ship, hoping to be a stowaway.”

Eli didn’t respond, his eyes distant. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Kallus added, before leaving the room.

-SWR-

Eli sat dazed on the bed, his heart racing and his thoughts sporadic and unfocused. 

_Torture._

He didn’t want to imagine it. He _couldn’t_ imagine Thrawn being subjected to… anything some sick monster could think of. He’d never seen Thrawn truly hurt… or … even truly vulnerable. Anytime Thrawn had been injured, he’d been able to remain stoic.

But… torture...

Eli glanced down at the pile of clothes he’d left haphazardly at the foot of the bed, and rummaged through it - there. He found the datapad he’d snuck along… and it was safe. He powered it up long enough to see that Thrawn’s Sy Bisti instructions hadn’t been tampered with. In fact, the datapad hadn’t been powered up in over a day.

Kallus hadn’t gone through his things while he slept.

And that made Eli trust him more than anything else.

Eli glanced away from the datapad, chewing on his lip.

He had another chance to follow Thrawn’s advice. He could ask Kallus to help him sneak away, get a transport of some kind, then fly off to Thrawn’s people. He would vanish, just like Thrawn had made him promise to do…

Eli winced. He knew he couldn’t.

So he got dressed quickly, knowing each second he wasted was another second Thrawn would be alone, and hoped he knew what he was doing.

\- SWR - 

Thrawn opened his eyes. They were heavy, but the pounding in his arm would not leave him alone. It pulsed, repeatedly, a rhythmic tempo heavy enough to stir him from unconsciousness. As the room around him came into focus, his eyes settled on the sticky brown liquid slowly drying before him.

Blood… slowly oxidizing… 

He knew logically that it wasn’t a lot. That his body held a lot more. That blood spilled always looked worse than what it was.

But it was his blood…

_Focus…_

He was laying on the ground. Even if he’d been unconscious, and it wasn’t exactly the same thing as sleep, the rest had helped. His mind felt… less cloudy. More substantial. More concrete.

He didn’t dare to move, but a thought settled on him, terrifying and liberating all at once.

_You’re free._

He wasn’t bound up in that contraption anymore. He was laying on the ground. His hand was wrapped up in bloody bandages and he dared not to see the extent of the damage, but his hands were free. His legs… free.

If he had the strength, he could stand. He could move about his cell as he saw fit.

He didn’t capitalize on the freedom. Not yet.

Thrawn didn’t want to think of it in terms of being afraid. Merely that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself until he could figure out what his next move was.

There were only two choices, as far as Thrawn could see.

Either continue to fight, and stand to lose.

Or…

Thrawn closed his eyes, accepting the alternative.

It wasn’t what he’d hoped. After nearly a decade working to help his people, he never once imagined it could end like this. But if he chose to fight - he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Eli was loyal. He would follow Thrawn’s directives and leave. By now, he was halfway across the galaxy. The others he’d worked with? Captain Faro? Yularen? They would not rescue him. They probably didn’t know his circumstances. 

No, no one was coming to rescue him.

Which gave Thrawn the only course of action he could take to keep his people safe.

The guards had left the means for him to carry it out. Laying on the permacrete only inches from his hand… a knife… catching the glow from Thrawn’s eye.

Thrawn knew what he had to do. And he knew he didn’t have much time.

If the Chiss were going to stay safe, Thrawn was going to have to kill himself, and the secrets he couldn’t afford to give up.


End file.
